


Lulled to Sleep

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: ASMR, Comfort, F/F, Relaxation, Second Person, Sleep, Tender - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:22:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: POV: You are Villanelle crying yourself to sleep (quietly) and Eve holds you without needing to be asked.ASMR on paper.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 103





	Lulled to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikachu84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikachu84/gifts).



> I hope you all enjoy something soft on Election Day. I hope this came across as soothing as I wanted it to. Maybe I'll revisit this idea, sometime. Please leave comments with any feedback, suggestions, requests, etc.
> 
> Enjoy <3

You flick off the bedside lamp and lie on your left side, towards the wall. It’s your favorite side to fall asleep on—when you’re alone, anyway. You pull the covers all the way up to your chin and close your eyes.

You start to count to 30 because it’s a trick that Eve gave you, once, when you couldn’t sleep. You do it, every night, now. You just do.

You make it to 14 and find yourself shivering at the image of Eve having shot herself in Anna’s bedroom. Blood pools around her head. You hover over her and stare while telling Irina to find money.

_Eve didn’t die_ , you realize. Anna is dead, but Eve is not. You hope that Eve will not die. Maybe never, if you are lucky. Maybe you and Eve should figure out a way to die at the same time.

You pull your knees up to your chest and let out a breath, starting over at 1 and hoping to get to 30—or hoping to fall asleep before then, which would be even better.

You feel a dip in the mattress.

Moments later, you hear Eve clear her throat. As she shuffles her body under the covers, the smell of her conditioner greets you, and you let out another breath (this time, because you feel relieved, not because you are frustrated with the counting).

You count up to 16, this time, and the image of Anna lying on the floor becomes an image of Mama falling to the floor. Because of _you_ , because of what _you_ did.

You remember Konstantin’s words about how you shouldn’t have done that. “Everybody wants to do that, but nobody does.” So, what does that make you? It makes you _not_ like everybody else. Not normal, not good. Maybe.

Why did he say that? Advice is supposed to be given in situations that can be fixed, and the fire was not something that could be fixed, by the time you told him.

It’s shit advice.

“What was that?”

The voice sounds so close and startles you. You ignore it and go back to counting, though. It could have been a trick of the mind.

“V, did you say something?”

_Oh_. You must have said it out loud.

Your mouth starts moving before your thoughts even catch up; you’re so sleepy.

“I said ‘it’s shit advice’ . . . but I wasn’t talking to—I didn’t mean—”

“—Are you having trouble falling asleep?” Eve asks you, gently.

“H-How . . .” _How did she know_?

A warm hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“You’re shaking!” Eve exclaims, and it’s not loud, but it’s not quiet, either.

And then, “come here,” said much quieter, and she wraps her arms around your waist and scoots herself closer to you.

You feel her forehead rest where your neck is, and her breath is hot against your shoulder blade, and her nose pokes you. And she’s so warm.

Her hands lock together under your chest, right where your ribs are, and you feel incredibly safe and warm with the way she has slotted you into her grasp, so easily.

You smile and then you sniffle, unaware that you’ve even done it, but—

“hey, are you okay?” she whispers.

Oh.

You realize your cheeks are damp. You must have started to cry, somewhere between 1 and 16.

“Eve,” you whisper, because the sound of the name is sweet. “I am okay,” you answer. You lower your hand and put it over both of her hands. You give a small squeeze.

The quality of your voice must not have been reassuring enough because then she tugs her hands against your stomach with little nudges and tells you, “turn over.”

You feel like you could fall asleep at any second and you don’t want to pick yourself up and turn over, but the nudging doesn’t stop, so you snap yourself awake and turn towards her.

You’re glad when you do.

She finds your forehead, even in the dark. She rests hers against yours, and she rewards your heavy lifting with a long, gentle kiss to your upper lip.

You slip into sleep with your foreheads resting together, but you only know that you’ve fallen asleep because you’re woken up a few seconds later, when she draws her thumb against your cheek and collects all of the tears.

_Oh_ , you realize, _I really was crying_.

You don’t even make it through all of those words in your thoughts because then she whispers, “baby, what’s wrong?” against your lips, and her breath is warm, and you can practically taste her.

Your body is so heavy with the lull of sleep. Your mind feels awake and coherent, but all of your limbs are heavy.

You try to explain that thing about Konstantin’s advice about your mother, but the only sound that leaves your mouth is a sad hum. You can’t help it; you’re just so tired.

Eve seems to understand that you’re too sleepy to form the words. You’re awake enough to listen, though. You’re still here with her, after all.

She whispers, “it’s okay. it’s all okay, baby.”

Her arms pull you closer and tighter, and she kisses your chin, and then your bottom lip.

You do everything you can to keep your mind awake. For her. To be with her. To be awake and aware of how your body is limp in her arms, which is the safest and loveliest place you could ever, ever be.

You fall limper, still. Let down any defense. You make the muscles in your arms like jelly—let yourself sink into the mattress, therefore, into Eve. You surrender yourself to her.

You slip into sleep. Then out of it, again, and you know because you feel a featherlight stroke on your jaw, now. You’re not sure when she moved her arm from your side so that she could touch your face.

More kisses to your bottom lip. She must know how tired you are because she hardly grazes her lips upon yours.

You fight to stay awake, again. You want to express an admission of love. You want to open your mouth and let the words “I love you” fall.

Your mouth feels sealed shut; you’re too tired. Your body is so close to sleep.

You take a few moments trying to remember how to use your voice, and eventually, another humming sound comes from you.

“shhh,” Eve soothes. She strokes her thumb over your eyebrow. Over and over and over, slowly.

She manages to turn the next “shhh” into just a whistle of the ‘S’ sound. It’s a frequency that makes your chest tingle with fluttery warmth.

“i’m here,” she whispers against your chin, and then, “i’ve got you.”

You hum again. It’s a lot easier, this time.

Your arm twitches against Eve’s side, once, on its own. You hope she doesn’t mind. You become aware of how your arm is draped over her side and how it rises and falls on its own, as she breathes.

Her hand comes up to your neck. You trust her with it—the most vulnerable part of your body, arguably. You trust her with everything, and you wouldn’t move, even if your body was awake. You’re hers; you’re safe in her hands. All of you.

She curls all of her fingers around that side of your neck, and it feels warm where her palm lands. Her thumb continues its soft stroking, this time over your ear. You hear a staticky noise as she does it, but you don’t mind. It’s the type of white noise that tries to pull you back into sleep, again.

You fall asleep for a few seconds, then wake up when she wraps her arm around your back, again.

This is the safest. This is the warmest, and you are not sure why you prefer it. You hope she will stay there. You can’t use your words to ask, when you’re like this. You hope that she can read your mind.

She bows her forehead against your chin. Her breath is hot against your collar bone. She sighs and it feels and sounds perfect. It sounds like _Eve_. Her hair is near your nose and you smell it. The wispy strands tickle your mouth.

If you could move anything, you would tuck her head further in, under your chin, and hold her. You can’t, though. You can’t move.

“baby girl,” she whispers against you, still close to your chest.

It makes your mind feel fuzzy and light. This is the safest place on earth; you wish to stay here forever. You wish she would say it again.

“baby girl,” she says, again, and you think she really can read your mind. The sound of each letter is perfect, when it’s shaped by her mouth.

“go to sleep for me.”

She is beside you, with you, all around you.

_“go to sleep for me,”_ she mumbles, one last time. Pleading.

You finally let your mind slip into the same state your body has been in, this entire time.

Your consciousness falls. It’s the last thing you surrender to Eve. You trust her with it; she will catch it.

You go to sleep with her; for her.


End file.
